You Are more than the Choices that You've Made
by Russingon5eva
Summary: Any lore-master can tell you that Fëanor was killed at Dagor-nuin-Giliath. Anyone could tell you that he remains unredeemable. Fate seems to disagree with both of those statements. A/U fate of Fëanor.
1. Blood and Fire

Blood and fire. That was the farthest he could remember before the emptiness began. There was a certain point where he just couldn't remember anything and an utterly dark void of blankness began and there was nothing beyond that.

He couldn't remember his own name; maybe he didn't have one; not to anyone and never. Until that void where he hit a wall in his memories, he'd been an 'it.'

_(maybe he'd always been an 'it')_

That was the first thing he could remember. He was an it, a thing; not a person; and he would never be more than an it.

Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep. The routine never broke save when he exchanged owners. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep. He was just a run-down piece of property; helpless against any type of onslot. Or so it might seem. There was that one, tiny part of him that would sometimes surface that refused to comply blindly with being a piece of property to be thrown out to whoever might take it when one grew tired of it. A proud, selfish part that insisted that this wasn't what he was meant for; that he was royalty and shouldn't be treated like this. It always made that argument, but whenever he had the nerve to question what it meant by that, it never had an answer for him.

Somehow it knew, but it didn't know how it knew. It wouldn't be so bad if he knew he was going to die someday, but it he had learned one thing (and only one thing) about his past, it was that he had been born immortal. That didn't mean he would never die, but it also meant that those who owned him tended to be a bit more careful to avoid killing him from the punishments he received because he could die no other way. Even the luxury of fading that he somehow knew he should be privy to was denied him.

At first, he remembered egging different masters on; trying to get them to lose their cool and beat him to death without intending to. But they did and as the years progressed, the punishments became more and more creative until he finally stopped resisting and gave into his lot in life. Still, he looked for the death of one master or his selling on the off-chance that he might fall into the hands of someone who would kill him. The thought of a kindly soul who might release him never once crossed his mind. All he looked for was freedom in death. He felt that was the only way he would ever feel peace.

Most of the time.

But there were those times every hundred years or so when his long smothered and forgotten pride awoke. It would take one look at what he had become and burst into a rage. Than he felt an echo of what he must've once been and his soul ignited with fury. The embers glowed long enough for him to escape - maybe kill a driver or two - and then they would die out. They always found after that. Without that fierce pride, he had given into slavery. Without it, he wanted nothing, but to serve. He had no drive for freedom. He breathed, and his heartbeat, but no spark ever lasted long enough to start a flame - his flame - back up to its former glory. He took his imprisonment as his due; he felt he must have deserved it somehow, why else would he not be able to escape?

Long ago, he accepted the fact that he would continue to change hands and suffer this darkness until the world was destroyed. Maybe then, he would find solace; peace. Maybe there, he would find true nothingness. Sleep forever.

The only desire of his heart - if it could be called a true desire - was to embrace nothingness and never look back. To be one moment and to not be the next. He endured for that and only that.

Than something changed. He was sold to a young man after the death of yet another owner - an elderly woman who had received him from her son by marriage as her body began to grow older. He had been the only slave she had ever owned and would ever own, and she had been undoubtedly the kindest master he had ever known. He had been treated like an equal; like a human being, not an animal; and it had been strange. Like waking up from a horrible nightmare.

He couldn't remember his name, and no one had ever bothered to grant him something more than 'elf' or 'you' or insulting titles, so she had given him a name. Fëa, for 'spirit' in the elven tongue. She had been the only one he had ever mourned. She had spoken of freedom, freedom for_him_, and though he hadn't truly believed her in his heart; it had been a nice daydream. No longer. The man her son by marriage had sold him to after her death couldn't have been more different. He was a horse breeder and owned large areas of land. He had nearly 400 slaves and beat them regularly. Fëa managed to stay out of his way for 3 years.

Then, his life was changed yet again.

He was in the stables when a 5-year-old girl slipped up; letting recently caught (and promising) stallion loose. Her sentence was to be lashed 50 times or until she died. Fëa watched her mother off to the side begin to weep. Something told him than that he couldn't stand by and watch something like that happen to a 5 year old.

Right as they brought her up to the whipping block, he stepped in. He had never felt so rebellious (not even when he was running, killing; for now he was doing without that voice in his head) in his life as he pleaded with the master. The final sentence was out. The girl would be whipped 50 times unless she died before, or the elf would be lashed in her place 100 times.

He almost backed down then, but the fear in the girl's eyes and the hope in her mother's hardened his resolve. He took the 100 lashes. He kept silent all until the 95th blow. Then he cried out something that seemed so familiar and passed out.

* * *

**This is a weird idea I had a whole ago and I'm finally writing it. Lol**


	2. There's something saying this is wrong

**Full title would be: "There's something telling me this is wrong, and not in the sense you might think" if there was enough room.**

**For anyone who was wondering, the word that "seemed so familiar" that Fëanor cried out before passing out in the previous chapter was "Finwë!"**

**And I'm actually writing this story. I probably shouldn't be because I still have How Did I Get Myself Into This? and a few other WIPs that I need to finish, but who cares? You can't stop me!**

**(and I'm sorry this took me longer than expected. My sister dragged my sorry axe to Youth Conference, and that took Friday, Saturday, and Sunday [the 14th, 15th, and 16th] out of my schedule, so I had to extend my deadline, which was Monday [the 17th], to Thursday [the 20th]. I'm going to try to get an update in every Thursday now and if I don't you are all welcome to hit me, throw rotten fruit at me, and sic anyone you want on me…except Fëanor because if you do, than you're taking him away from me and I need him to get those updates in. Besides, he's really mad at me and I probably won't be around to update should you sic him on me)**

Okay, shutting up and starting now. xD

Fëa awoke with a snap. Where had he been? Why was he sleeping? _Where was Nolofinwë? _He struggled to sit up, but fell back with a cry as pain snapped through his body.

"He's awake," someone whispered and there was a cold hand on his shoulder. As lightly as the person touched his shoulder, it still stung and he cried out again.

"Don't try to sit up." A soft voice told him, gently holding him down.

His back continued to sting and he groaned. He forcefully rolled onto his side, gritting his teeth the entire time.

A small body pressed into his chest, being careful not to jostle his shredded back. Dimly, he recognized the child as the 5 year old girl whose life he had undoubtedly saved.

The hand was back on his shoulder _(or maybe it had never left)_, shaking now. "Thank you." The voice whispered, "Thank you."

He knew that the slave tending to him was the girl's mother then and he weakly shook his head. "Just doin' what I could. Imma elf. We survive from more recover quicker than humans.. Itwas nothin'. 'Sides, I think I deserve it."*

He tried to force open his eyes, but he couldn't seem to get them to focus for very long. He only had time to watch the woman shake her head violently. "No, it wasn't nothing. And if what you did for my daughter is any judge of your character, you do not deserve something like that."

Fëa managed a bitter laugh. "Yeah, intis life. But there somethin' I can'ot 'member; somethin' so dark that I'ave repressed it. Or 'sis been forceful'y 'epressed." His words were slurring together and what was coming out of his mouth barely made sense.

There was a 'huff' of disbelief from the woman and she said something, but Fëa was beginning to slip in and out of consciousness and he was unable to catch what she said.

The hand left his shoulder as Fëa shivered and pulled a blanket around him. "Sleep." The woman's voice was fuzzy now, but clear enough that he could understand and he complied, eyelids heavy.

As he drifted into the abyss, a pair of swirling blue eyes fixed on him, mouthing 'Fëa' and than something he couldn't make out over and over again; a body slowly forming around them. Dark hair, blue eyes; and Fëa felt that he should know who it was, but he didn't. The figure was adorned in battle armor and there was a long scar running through his right eyebrow**.

Suddenly, the strange elf - for he was an elf - wasn't facing him anymore and he was facing enormous black gates. Dread filled Fëa's soul and he tried to reach out to stop the elflord as he blew a horn that sounded so familiar and banged on the gate, but found that he could not move an inch; frozen and forced to watch.

"Come and face me, Morgoth, or art thou afraid?!" That was the only sentence that Fëa registered as the ground began to buckle and heave.

Now it was hatred burning in the pit of his soul as he watched the elflord and the dark-Vala _(how did he know that?)_ duel.

And as the elf fell for the fourth time and couldn't rise as the Vala pinned him, suffocating him, it was as if a dam had burst and so many emotions had burst out with it.

'_Morgoth_' something hissed and it took him a moment to realize that it had been him who had spat the name with such venom. That venom in his voice made him shudder, but the hatred and anger did not go away.

In his dying breath, the elflord slashed at_Morgoth's_ foot all the while staring at Fëa.

"Curufinwë…" He whispered, and than his body went slack and Fëa knew he was dead. Unexplainably, he felt a deep and personal sadness ebbing from his core.

His mind was screaming _Nolofinwë_ as Morgoth ripped the deceased elf**king**'s body in half and he began to soar.

_(eagleretrievesaveNoloNoloNOLO)_

His mind wouldn't stop screeching even as he swooped down on Morgoth, talons open and eyes ablaze (and sweet Eru, when had he become an eagle?!). He raked his claws down Morgoth's face and snatched his brother's body from hi-**its**grip.

_(brother,whatbrotherhedidnthaveabrother)_

_'__Nolo, Nolo, Nolo, Nolo, Nolo…'_

"Nolofinwë!" Fëa woke up screaming and thrashing about; not knowing why he kept calling for the strange elf. He didn't know how he knew his name, but he knew that he didn't know the elflord in the deeply personal manner that would've caused him to feel such grief that it could've broken the wall around his memories, even if only for a moment. …Did he?

There was a figure above him and he reached up towards it. "Nolo…" He choked on the name, desperate, but there was no response from the shadowy figure. "Nolo…" He tried again, "Nolo, you're not dead?…Nolo?" Still no response. He tried to call out again, but suddenly his mouth wouldn't move. He couldn't move at all again.

Then his mind started screaming once more and he curled in on himself, forcing aside the pain that accompanied the movement.

Who was Nolofinwë? And more specifically, who was Nolofinwë to **him**? He had to ask someone….

But they wouldn't let him talk. The voices wouldn't let him. He didn't even need to ask, they knew. And his head began screaming again.

_No, no, stop, get out!_

The screaming only intensified and Fëa soon found himself screaming in time with the voices in his mind.

Someone was trying to pin him down and he fought back violently. They wouldn't keep him down. Not this time.

Not this time.

**Blinding pain and someone was cackling.**

_"__Get me some cold water, I don't care what you have to do to get it! He's burning up! I can almost see flames dancing on him!"_

Burn…burn…BURNING

**"****You think you can fight me?!"** **The cackling increased and Fëa tensed; shaking.**

**"****You can run, but you can't hide!"**

**"****No!" Fëa tried to twist away, but found that he was chained hand and foot and he couldn't even thrash his head. He was completely immobilized.**

**The laughter hadn't stopped, and now it only increased as Fëa panicked.**

_"__Someone hold him down; he's going to hurt himself!"_

**"****Did you really think you ever had a chance?" The figure that Fëa still couldn't see tsk'ed. "Now you have only brought yourself and your sons into damnation."**

Sons?

**Morgoth - yes, it was him again, wasn't it - smirked, as if he could hear what Fëa was thinking. "You've already begun to forget, haven't you, my little elf?" He stroked Fëa's cheek and the elf was forced to let him, unable to thrash away.**

**"****Already, one of your sons is within my grasp. Perhaps, thou would like to see him, would you not?" Fëa was suddenly able to thrash - no longer bound - and he took full advantage of that fact and roll away from Morgoth, hatred burning in his blood.**

**"****Go die in whatever hole seems worst to you, dark one!" He spat, though it didn't feel like he was the one saying it***. "I want nothing to do with my father's killer!"**

Morgoth began laughing and grabbed Fëa's arm. "There's nothing thou canst do about that now Fëanáro Curufinwë." He gloated, "T'was your choice that led thou to Angband and now thou art mine."

**Fëa tried to struggle away, but a sudden rush of wind and lightlightlight overrode his senses and he went limp for a second. When his vision cleared, they were standing before a high cliff. An elf was chained near the top, naked save for a ragged cloth around his middle, copper hair dull; skin black and red with mixed dirt and blood.**

**As Fëa watched, the male elf raised his head - sensing their presence. When he saw Fëa, his eyes widened and he tried to free himself, than fell back against the unforgiving rock with a scream of pain that echoed through Fëa's mind and he began to struggle again.**

**The scene began to fade and Morgoth's dark promise of "Thou wilt always be mine, even after I am gone Fëanáro" was overridden by the elf, who screamed "ATAR!" even as the rock faded away. **And Fëa opened his eyes.

* * *

Author's Notes: After Fëanor wakes up,**example** is the dream/memory, _example_is the actual world and 'example' is solely Fëanor's mind.

That first bit is just Fëanor's suppressed mind reaching out and trying to latch onto a name. He won't remember thinking that until later on in the story, which - unless something changes - will be how he remembers who he is. (he remembered and asks Ori [because he's a scribe] if he knows the name and Ori does and Fëanor somehow knows his brother's name is Nolofinwë and he asks and … yeah, I think you get the point) PS - that was just a note to self so I wouldn't forget. It might not even happen that way, *shrugs* I don't know.

* = That sentence wasn't supposed to be grammatically correct to any small (or large) degree.

** = I have a headcanon based on a picture I found a long time ago that Fingolfin was injured around his right eyebrow during the Kinslaying at Alqualondë and it scarred for lack of treatment.

*** = This just means that it's his past self saying it and the Fëanor at this time wouldn't have said it because he wouldn't even remember his father, let alone that he was dead and who killed him. Because "Fëa's" memory-wipe is complete when the Fëanor in that memory's wasn't, it feels strange to Fëa.

And translations of Fëanor's slurred talk:

"Just doin' what I could. Imma elf. We survive from more recover quicker than humans.. Itwas nothin'. 'Sides, I think I deserve it." is "Just doing what I could. I'm an elf. We can survive from more and we recover quicker than humans. It was nothing. Besides, I think I did something to deserve it."

and

"Yeah, intis life. But there somethin' I can'ot 'member; somethin' so dark that I'ave repressed it. Or 'sis been forceful'y 'epressed." is "Yeah, in this life. But there's something I can't remember; something so dark that I've repressed it. Or it's been forcefully repressed."


End file.
